


Reborn

by Lemurkat



Series: The Valley & The Void [3]
Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Anxiety, Death, F/M, New Beginnings, Teen relationships/sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2020-11-23 06:17:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20887493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemurkat/pseuds/Lemurkat
Summary: Jasper Thomas has been trapped in the Void for ten years. He's done terrible things, things he - thankfully - barely remembers, but hurt the ones closest to him. Now a fluke of fortune has restored him back to life and turned his face back to the sun.But the Void is reluctant to let him go.Abigail has a fascination in darkness - she loves dodgy vampire novels, and Spirits Eve. So when the Prince of Darkness is restored to his former self, she's of course drawn to him. He's not exactly what she expected - being neither suave, nor particularly mysterious (although he is kinda cute) - in fact, he's kinda awkward and geeky.And you know what?Suave and mysterious is over-rated.But the Void has found a new avatar, and he isn't going to limit himself to manipulating people's dreams...





	1. Cemetary Gates

**Author's Note:**

> ****Note: I will probably finish uploading Harmony before I continue with this one. Have just put the first chapter up as a teaser. ****
> 
> Initially supposed to be a lighter SDV novel than my other two, 'Reborn' is actually very dark. Mainly because Jasper has to deal with a lot of things, not limited to the voices that torment his mind, his crushing guilt, and the fact that everyone thinks he died ten years ago. Also, I do a lot of terrible stuff to the poor guy. 
> 
> I've endeavored to tie up *most* of my loose ends from Broken and Harmony, but inadvertently a few will survive. If you find any that feel particularly significant, please let me know. I DO have a fourth story and at least one short story in mind.
> 
> If you haven't read "Broken" first, this story might seem quite weird. You *might* be able to skip 'Harmony' however (although I'd recommend you didn't, since there's way more in there about Jasper and Mona's relationship than you see in 'Broken').

****

**In Loving Memory**  
Jasper Thomas Jr.  
1992-2009  
Taken too soon. Forever in our hearts

Jasper Thomas stared at his grave. “I wonder who’s in there?” he said. “Did the Void give me a new body, or is it... is it someone else?”

Abigail’s eyes gleamed in fey delight. “Shall we open it up and take a look?”

“Yoba no!” Jasper pushed his glasses up his nose and glared at her. Wondered if she’d actually do it. The girl was seriously too delighted in the macabre. “It’s been ten years. There’s no damn way I want to see what it looks like. Seems weird though,” he added, glancing at the gravestone beside his. “That there’s a stone for me – and my grandfather – but not for my dad.”

“Because he’s only maybe dead.” Abigail twirled her amethyst curls around her finger. The action made Jasper’s heart clench a little.

She looked so much like Mona. They were sisters (half-sisters, his brain reminded him), but where Mona had been brave and smart, Abigail was, well, annoying with it. She seemed to never stop talking, and was – in his opinion – too damned perky.

But damn, she was sexy. And definitely stirred something in the dark recesses of his shriveled black heart (or perhaps it was his loins?).

Was it too weird, to be a little bit horny for your dead girlfriend’s sister? Probably. Then again everything had been a bit weird since he’d been dragged back into himself, in that deep, dark castle beneath Darkhaven.

“Well, I’m definitely not dead,” he said. Turned his face to the sun. Felt the heat of it as it danced across his cheeks. How he’d missed that – daylight, fresh air, grass beneath his feet.

Companionship. Even if she was a pain. No one else wanted to hang out with him.

And he’d been alone so very, very long.

“So, you done yet?” Abigail had the patience of a puppy. “Come on, if we hurry back now, we can grab take-out before we’ve gotta catch the bus.”

He nodded, and stood. Ran his hands over the gravestone one last time. “Pity I didn’t get to see the funeral,” he said. “Hope they said good things about me.”

Abigail shrugged. “Hell if I know. I never liked you well enough to go to your funeral.” He wasn’t sure if he should feel offended or amused. Then again, they’d not been friends then, wasn’t even sure if they were friends now, or if Abigail was just hanging out with him because he intrigued her..

“Come on Zombie,” she said, slipping her hand into his. 

“Please don’t call me that,” he groaned.

She laughed, happy to have pissed him off, and tugged him down the hill, through the fields of graves and wild flowers. Grampleton cemetery was a beautiful place for eternal rest, he supposed. Although, it wasn’t like the dead needed a view. Part of him wished he’d been buried in Pelican Town, with Mona. 

He’d been seventeen, Mona fifteen, and they’d been in love – with a baby on the way. And terrified. They’d run, planned to marry and raise the child together.

Then he’d... died? Been murdered? Consumed by the Void?

The memories of that terrible night, the night of the storm that had stolen Mona away from him, were a jumbled haze. The last ten years, a confusion of shadows and cold: a desperate aching cold. Like he’d been frozen in time, in spirit, if not in body. 

Now, twenty-seven years old, he felt like he’d been released from prison (“Because you have,” Abigail insisted. What was the Void, if not a prison?). Like the world had moved on – and left him behind.

His fingers strayed, almost involuntarily, to the teardrop necklace. Mona’s necklace. Isla had put it on him, that night when she’d ripped him back from the darkness, the clutch of the Void. Brought him back to himself. He’d been too scared to take it off again. 

What if it were the only thing keeping the shadows at bay?

Isla hadn’t meant to save him, of that he was almost certain. He couldn’t say he blamed her. 

“Do you think she’ll ever forgive me?” he asked. They passed through the cemetery gates. 

“Who?” Abigail asked. “Mona? She guided you back, didn’t she? What do you want? Burgers or fried chicken?”

“Chicken,” he replied. “And Isla. For, you know, getting that Joja bastard to kidnap my … Jasmine … and almost killing her boyfriend.”

“Isla’s pretty forgiving,” Abigail replied. “I expect she will, with time. If she hasn’t already.”

Fried Chicken Heaven seemed to be the popular hang-out spot on a Saturday night. Jasper scrambled into a private booth. Being around too many people brought him out in a sweaty panic. Especially here, in Grampleton, where, once, he’d attended school.

What if someone recognized him? 

Voices from the booth over. Two friends – a boy and a girl – greeting each other. Happiness. Laughter.

“Hey Marc, written that poem for me yet?” the female said teasingly. “Something sweet, romantic; none of this dark Gothic nonsense.”

“Well, let me see,” the boy answered, his voice low and gentle. A spasm of panic kicked Jasper in the chest. “Roses are red...”

Jasper hunched low, pulled his hoodie over his head. He’d heard that voice, soft, melodious, in his dreams.

No Jasper, in your nightmares.

“...Your eyes are green,” he continued.

“No they’re not,” came the laughing response. “They’re hazel!”

“And you’re the prettiest girl, that I’ve ever seen,” he concluded. Then added, “Yoba Bex – nothing rhymes with ‘hazel’.” 

“Hey Zombie,” Abigail sidled in, slid the tray across the table to him. She quirked her head and studied him, her blue-green eyes penetrating. “What’s up, dude? You look like you saw a ghost.” Then she laughed as if she’d said something hilarious. The look he gave her silenced her. “Seriously, what’s up?” she whispered.

“It’s my brother,” he answered, his mouth close to her ear, spiders of panic galloping down his spine. “Marcus. In the booth. Beside us.”

Abigail leaned back into the padded seat and arched her eyebrows at him. “Really?” she said. Dammit, why did she have to sound so intrigued? Her lips curved into a lazy smile. Shit, she’s gonna go and talk to him.

“Be right back,” she said. “Enjoy your greasy chicken.”

“Please don’t,” he whispered – but asking Abigail not to do something when she set her mind to it... well, he might as well try and smother a fire with a newspaper.

“Hi!” he heard her say brightly. “I think I know you, right?” She paused. “Marcus? Marcus Thomas?”

“Yes?” Marcus answered, tone guarded. Jasper could almost hear his thoughts, as his little brother tried to figure out who this perky purple-haired woman could possibly be. “Do I know you?”

“Abigail,” she replied. “Le Roux from Pelican Town. You probably won’t remember me though, since you were, like six at the time. But I saw you a few months back – at that poetry slam? That was some seriously dark-as-shit poem there.”

“Yeah.” Marcus sounded super-uncomfortable with this conversation. Jasper hunched lower in his seat. Couldn’t bring himself to eat, as though if he made any movement, his brother would lean over the booth and shout, “you’re dead!” at him.

“Did it really come to you in a dream?”

“Lady,” the girl said, and there was venom in her voice – did she think Abigail was flirting with her boyfriend? – “We’re on a date here.”

“Sor-ry,” Abigail replied, drawing out the first syllable. “I’ll leave you two to it then. But you know what rhymes with ‘hazel’?” She paused for a heart-beat. 

Shit, thought Jasper. She’s gonna say ‘anal’ and Bex is gonna be pissed. And will probably punch her or something.

“Angel,” Abigail replied. “There’s a good one, for you, Marcus. Have fun, kids!”

She sauntered back, slid into the booth and picked up her drumstick. Jasper glared at her.

“Abigail,” he hissed. 

“Oh.” Bex stepped around into the booth, Abigail’s wallet in her hand. “You dropped this.” Jasper pulled his hoodie tighter, tried to hide himself behind his hair. But it was too late. Bex’s lips parted in amused surprise. “Shit, Marc, check it out. This guy looks like you. Maybe he’s your long-lost brother.”

Fuck.

“My brother’s dead,” Marcus said, with a certain amount of sadness, Jasper was pleased to note.

“Oh Yoba, sorry. Shit.” Now Bex shuffled her feet and hugged herself.

“It’s okay. He died when I was ei— Fuck.” Marcus joined them, and as much as Jasper wanted to hide his face, he couldn’t – this was his little brother, after all. “Jasper?”

Marcus was already pretty pale (although, Jasper noted, not as pale as himself), but the color drained even further from his face. He looked as though he were about to faint.

Pretty much exactly as though he’d seen a ghost.

Which, Jasper guessed, he kinda had.

“Marc, are you okay?” Bex grabbed his arm, and Abigail helped her ease him into the booth. “Do you need water or something?”

Marcus waved away her concern, eyes wide in stunned amazement. “You’re not dead?”

“It appears not.” Jasper offered him a placatory smile. “Sorry.”

“Sorry?! What in Yoba’s name are you sorry for? You’re alive. Mom’s gonna fucking freak!”

“Please, don’t tell her.”

“Why not? Where have you been, dude? You run away or something? Get caught up in some weird underground shit?”

Abigail giggled. Damn her. He glared at her, and she winked back, and gave him a not particularly surreptitious thumbs up.

“You could say that,” he mumbled.

“What’s going on?” Bex looked stricken. Jasper hoped he hadn’t ruined his little brother’s chances with the girl – she was kinda cute, with her close-cropped, bright pink hair and over-sized earrings. Totally punk rock.

Marcus regained his composure. “Bex,” he said, “I’d like to introduce you to my, yes indeed, long-lost brother, Jasper – whom we buried ten years ago.” He frowned. “Wait, if you’re not dead, who’s in the grave?”


	2. Distant Voices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jasper sulks like an overgrown teenager.  
Which, I suppose, he kinda is...   
And Abigail WAS out of line, what with her interfering in his life and all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a head's up, the deeper I delve into the lore and so forth, the farther from the canon my stories will stray.

“See.” Abigail rested, resting her head against Jasper’s shoulder, letting the gentle rocking motion of the bus lull her. “It all worked out okay.”

Jasper had been feigning deafness since they’d left the fried chicken joint. He and Marcus had talked for ages – they’d missed the early bus, and had to run to catch the last one for the night. Well, Marcus had talked, Jasper had mostly listened. He’d not been particularly forthcoming about where he’d spent the last ten years – spun some totally cliched yarn about amnesia (which she supposed was kinda true) – or shared the role he’d played in Marcus’s nightmares. Abigail might even have been bored, if Bex hadn’t actually turned out to be freaking awesome. The two girls had exchanged numbers at the end of the night.

“So you gonna go visit your mom?” she pestered. Nope, no answer. Yoba, moody much? She’d only been trying to help – and it had, hadn’t it! No need for him to sulk like a kid.

She poked her tongue out at him and pulled out her phone, flicked off a quick text to Isla.

Abigail: Sry we late. Ran into J’s little bro, the poet, Marcus!!!!! 

Isla: Really? How’d he take it?

Abigail: Good, considering. J sulking like big bby. Lvrboy over?

Isla: not tonight :( he with Jas. M&M having date night. Bed to self!

Abigail: Not 4 long! Will CU soon. Will tell all ;)

*

“How was your date?” 

Jasper tensed. He was still pissed at Abigail’s little stunt. He’d only tolerated her leaning against him on the bus ride home because she was wearing that low-cut mesh top, and he could stare right down her cleavage. A sight for sore eyes, if she’d just (occasionally) shut her mouth.

Thank Yoba, Marcus had actually been grateful to see him – and bought his dumb-ass claims of amnesia. Hopefully the kid wouldn’t tell their mom. Not yet. 

He thought that they’d been running so late that Rasmodius would be busy in his library, and he’d be able to sneak into the tower, and up to the tower room, where he’d been sleeping.

But, of course, the dude was a freaking wizard. And the only person in the entire village who’d been willing to offer him a bed and board – even though Mona was his daughter and Jasper had been (in part, if not in whole) responsible for her untimely death.

If it wasn’t for you, she’d still be alive.

“It wasn’t a date,” he mumbled. “We went to see my grave.”

Rasmodius stood and stalked over. He’d taken his persona to extremes: long purple robes, a pointed hat; he looked like he’d stepped right out of the pages of Harry Potter. His blue eyes – the only part of his face visible between his facial hair – were bright and curious.

Of course, it wasn’t altruism: Jasper’s rebirth fascinated him. The way the older man eyed Jasper over the dinner table sometimes made him wonder if he was plotting a dissection.

“How was it?” the wizard grunted.

“Scenic. And weird. What do you think is in my grave?”

“You,” Rasmodius replied lightly. “What else?”

Jasper pinched himself, wincing at the brief spasm of pain. “Is this the body I was born with, Rasmodius? Or something the Void created?”

Part of Jasper wished he could remember his time as the prince of the Void with clarity. Most of him, however, was relieved he could not. 

The Void corrupts. You corrupted, Jasper, you destroyed.

There had been nightmares, and puppets: simulacrums made from the bones and skin of the earth. He’d spied on people, haunted their sleep. Tormented poor Jasmine with his desperate loneliness.

But it all felt like the morning after a bad dream: he could grasp fragments of them, but it was like grabbing fog. There one minute, gone the next.

Rasmodius regarded him. “Perhaps your soul became trapped in the necklace,” he said. “And your body is just one of your,” he waved his fingers, “golem-puppets. But your mind, it is your own, is it not? You can still remember your childhood?”

He nodded mutely. “The Void still calls to me,” he whispered. “I’m worried... that this freedom is just… a mockery. And I’m its golem. What if I hurt my friends? What if I hurt...” A shudder passed through him and he thumped his hand on the table. Reveled in the pain. “What if I hurt Jasmine.”

Rasmodius offered him a smile, that was half grimace. “Then I shall kill you,” he said, matter-of-fact.

“Thank you,” Jasper whispered, with genuine relief.

*

Once, Rasmodius had been friends with Jasper’s father. They’d gone to school together: Rasmodius, Jasper Senior, and Abigail’s Uncle Marlon. Marnie too, over summer vacation. Guilt weighed heavy on Jasper at the crap he’d put Marnie through: she had a heart of freaking gold, and he’d ruined her life by running away during the worst goddamn storm in known history – taking his pregnant girlfriend with him – and then gone and drowned.

“So, what are your intentions regarding my daughter?” Rasmodius narrowed his eyes. Jasper’s heart kicked – which he supposed proved that he actually still had a heart – but Rasmodius wasn’t talking about Mona, after all, Abigail was also his daughter. “She’s not Mona,” he replied, a little angrily.

Rasmodius nodded, as though he hadn’t just said something blatantly obvious. “I’ve got something to show you,” he said.

Jasper groaned. “What?” he couldn’t possibly sound less enthused, – just wanted to go to bed (perhaps, if was lucky, dream of Abigail, sprawled naked beside him) but Rasmodius didn’t give half a damn.

“Well the Void, as you know is not so much an entity as a cancer – or a virus.” Jasper yawned, but was – again – ignored. “It worms its way into its victim, devouring all that is good, enhancing the darkness. It corrupts. Distorts. Destroys. Case in point, the Void bat.” He swept aside a blanket, bowing like he was performing a magic trick.

Eyes like burning coals glared at them, from above a maw of twisted, wicked teeth, so long that it could no longer close its mouth. A creature of true evil; the bat battered against the bars of the cage, its screeches like nails on a blackboard.

With a feather quill, the wizard sketched an interlocking chain of runes around a wooden circlet. With one hand, he held it in front of the cage door, barely flinching as the bat’s vicious teeth slashed a whisker’s length from his hand.

And he slid open the door.

The bat lunged for freedom, passing through the ring. Pinpricks of purple light, like June bugs, danced along its wings. It fell to the ground, twitching.

Became an ordinary, mundane – if somewhat large – bat.

“You cured it,” Jasper gasped.

Rasmodius nodded. “Of course. But the process is... inefficient. The runes are only active while the ink is wet. And, we cannot cure them all. And when it all comes down to it, they’re only bats.”

*

The voices came that night, as they did, every night. Taunting him. Mocking him. Begging him.

Come-back-to-us. We-miss-you.

Don’t-you-miss-us -too?

We-can-give-you-power. We-can-give-you-everything-you’ve-ever-wanted.

“Like hell you can,” he hissed into the darkness. Washed the sleeping tablets down his throat and put on the headphones, plugged into an ancient battery-powered radio.

The soothing static of untuned radio surrounded him, blocking out their temptations. Hopefully he would fall asleep before their promises turned to threats.

We-will-hurt-every-one-you-love. You-are-worthless. Nothing. Weak.

It wasn’t a permanent solution. There was only one permanent solution, and he couldn’t – wouldn’t – go there. 

Unless the Void seduced him, lured him back.

But, every night, the tablet’s power weakened. His mother had sold her spirit to grief and Valium. He didn’t want to go down that same path.

But it was the only way he could silence the whispers.


	3. Flirting with Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jasper contemplates research, whilst Abigail visits her parents.
> 
> TW: brief mention of suicide.

Dawn bathed the tower room in ethereal light. The sleeping tablets released him early; they always did. No matter how many times he stood at the window, and gazed out across the forest, saw the gentle fingers of fiery-purple brush the tops of the trees, Jasper would never grow weary of it.

He pulled on sweatpants and threw on a faded black shirt. He’d exited the mines with nothing but the clothes on his back, and pockets filled with pillaged treasures. Abigail had scrounged around town, and filled his wardrobe with old, faded and past-their-prime donated clothes ranging from too short to too long. This particular one depicted a bare-chested warrior thrusting a lightning-touched sword in the air, beneath the legend: ‘Manowar’ – one of those 80s hair metal bands, at a guess. 

He slouched down stairs and stoked up the potbelly stove. The worst way in the world to prepare a coffee, but Rasmodius didn’t believe in technology; his kitchen wouldn’t have looked out of place in the middle ages. The bat studied him from the bird-cage. Jasper padded, barefoot, over to stare right back at it. Its eyes were bright black, like gemstones. A Void monster no more.

Jasper ran his fingers over the teardrop necklace. “Mona,” he whispered. “I wish I could bring you back too.” Felt a small tremor of excitement at the thought. He’d been dead for ten years – she’d been gone for eight. Both had lost themselves to the Void: he’d entered its lair, been consumed by the dark entity itself. Mona’s death had been more gradual, more painful, as grief and despair and misery had eaten away at her heart and soul.

She’d taken her own life before their daughter’s first birthday.

Jasper saw it sometimes, in his nightmares. Wasn’t sure if it were his imagination, or her spirit, calling to him. 

He’d seen her face – determined, strained – as the lights of the train appeared form the subway. Heard the robotic monotone: “Train incoming. Please step back from the platform. Please step back...”

Seen her muscles tense, heard his own voice screaming, “NO!” as she jumped.

It had been quick, at least. But brutal. The driver’s face twisted and pale with shock. The sobbing screams of the few witnesses. 

It had been a closed casket funeral.

He’d been unable to attend, even by proxy. He could only touch the dreams of the sleeping (and only those that were open to the Void, or – like Jasmine, and Marcus – linked by blood). And his golems were vulnerable to sunlight. 

Darkness had been his reign.

Rasmodius had cautioned him against interfering with the cauldron, and forbidden him to touch the pentagram – but he’d given no such warning about the books. And the wizard had amassed quite a collection. Jasper browsed the shelves, reading the titles.: Revelations of Doom, Black Arts, The Final Age, and other cheery titles. He drew out one – its cover was worn, ancient leather – and blew dust from it. The title: Liber Ex Mortuis embossed upon the cover. He carefully turned a few of the parchment thin pages. Goosebumps danced up his arm. The words were all foreign to him – were they Latin? But the illustrations... this was real dark shit. He slipped it back into place.

It was like looking for a needle in a haystack.

No, it was like looking for a piece of hay in a stack of needles.

Looking-for-something? The voices gently probed. During daylight, when he was distracted, they generally withdrew, leaving him alone, but clearly he’d captured their attention.

The-fool-wants-to-raise-the-dead.

Bad-idea? No, a-great-idea!

Hysterical laughing thundered against his ears. He hunched, tried to cover them, knowing it would all be in vain. You couldn’t silence the shadows.

Footsteps outside, a knock at the door. 

“Jasper?” Abigail called.

Oh-it’s-your-pretty-friend.

She-looks-delicious.We-could-gobble-her-right-up.

Won’t-be-half-as-tasty-as-Mona-was-though.

Oh-what-a-fine-feast-she-made.

“Fuck off,” Jasper growled. “Leave me alone.”

“Jasper?” Concern in Abigail’s voice – did she think he was talking to her? “Are you okay?”

He managed to stand, and eased the book back onto the shelf. His legs felt week. “I’m fine,” he called. “Just talking to...” – the voices, the shadows – “myself.”

Would she still be his friend if she knew how screwed up he was? Sure, she could be annoyingly enthusiastic, and had a love of the macabre... but if it weren’t for her, he’d be all alone, again...

He combed his hand through his tangles – damn, his hair knotted so easily, he really was overdue a haircut – and answered the door.

Abigail was wearing a tight crop top – Eyes up. Don’t stare! – and extremely short denim shorts. Damn, nice breasts, lean thighs... was there anything about this girl that wasn’t sexy? He forced himself to keep his eyes on her face. You’ve just been alone too long, Jasper. 

“Whatcha up to today?” She smiled at him coquettishly.

Trying to figure out how to bring my dead girlfriend back to life, he thought. But said, “Nothing much,” and gave what he hoped was a casual shrug.

“Wanna come swimming? The lake seems to have cleared up – now you’re no longer lurking under it.” She paused. “Jasmine might be there.”

“I’m not sure I’m ready to, um, see her just yet,” he ventured. What if she remembered the night he’d had Morris kidnap her? What if she hated him for it?

He wasn’t sure he could bear that.

Abigail fluttered her eyelashes. “Oh, come on, Zombie.” She gave him what he thought was supposed to be a flirtatious pout (but in truth, made her look like a constipated duck). “Don’t you want to see me in a swimsuit?”

Well, yes, but that was beside the point. “Pretty sure Shane still wants to kill me,” he said. 

“Oh don’t worry about that,” she said flippantly. “I”ll protect you.”

Jasper gave her an incredulous look. Her head barely reached his chest – and he wasn’t particularly tall (a good three to four inches shy of six foot). “Okay, fine,” he relented. “I’ll meet you there. Darkhaven, right?”

“Right,” she said. “Be there at ten.” She glanced at him. “And don’t forget sunscreen. You’re so pale.”

“Speak for yourself,” he returned.

*

Abigail skipped away from her sexy (ex) Prince of the Void. Oh, she wasn’t delusional – she knew he still held a candle for Mona, that he’d never let his love for her sister die. Wasn’t even, if she were honest, sure that he liked her, or whether he was just tolerating her because everyone else was either scared of him, hated him, or saw him as a curiosity, a specimen.

However, she had one powerful weapon in her arsenal (no, it wasn’t just the galaxy sword that her Uncle Marlon had given her) – he was physically attracted to her. It was hilarious that he thought he was subtle. Of course, he didn’t know about her heightened awareness. She could feel his heavily suppressed lust in the tense coil of his muscles, the sweat that flecked his brow (so heavily suppressed, she wasn’t even sure he knew he was doing it).

But she could feel something else about him too. 

The Void hadn’t let him go. 

It was different from Shane’s depression, which added a shadowy haze to his – for want of a better term (even if it made her sound like she’d bought in on all that airy-fairy, new age nonsense) – aura. No, this was more... insidious. Shane’s demons had been leashed and tamed: by love (and not just corny shit like his love for Isla, but from Jasmine and Marnie as well), by drugs, therapy and his own hardcore determination. But Jasper’s were feral and hungry, like tiny fish that nibbled away at his soul.

Could she keep them away? Probably not. But it wasn’t like the poor kid had anyone else. So, she had to try.

It was all part of being a hero.

She entered the general store, flinching at the chime of the door.

“Good morning! Welcome to... oh, hello Abigail.” Her father’s tradition cheery greeting turned careful, tentative, like he might frighten her away. “Have you finally seen sense and come home to stay?”

“Just come to pick up some stuff,” she replied. “How’s Mom?”

“She misses you.” Pierre stepped from behind the counter, walked to the door and slapped the ‘back in five minutes’ sign up. “Where the heck have you been? Gallivanting around the countryside, no doubt? With that irresponsible uncle of yours.”

Fierce tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. Why did he have to belittle what she did – what Marlon did – for the valley? “We’ve been helping contain the Void,” she growled. 

“That nonsense again.” Pierre snorted. “It’s about time you came home, sorted your life out. You can’t freeload off your friends forever.”

“I’m not,” she impaled him with a glare. Or tried to, but Pierre had always been a little immune to her death stare. “I’ve been helping Isla out on the farm.”

“Your mother needs you here.” 

“You’re not my father,” she shot at him. “And I’m twenty-four years old. You can’t tell me what to do anymore!” She stormed past him, ignoring the stricken expression on his face. Ignoring the guilty little voice that pointed out that he was the injured party here, not her, and certainly not her mother.

But gah! Why did he have to be such an ass?

She fumbled through her drawers, found her small array of swimwear, and began rummaging through it. Too sexy. Not sexy enough. Hideous color. Argh. When had she last had a clean-out? Finally, scrunched into a ball, and pushed to the back, she found her favorite black and white swimwear set. Had just fished it out and began re-rolling it, when a knock came at the the door. “Hun?”

Abigail recognized the voice and rolled her eyes. “Yes Mom.”

Her mother looked tired. “Please don’t be so hard on your father.” She sat down on Abigail’s bed and patted it. Abigail gave a long-suffering groan, but plonked down beside her.

“But,” – Abigail flung herself back and stared at the ceiling – “he’s so... dismissive about what we actually do. Like, he thinks, if it’s not making money then why should we bother? We’re keeping the valley safe, Mom. How can money be more important than that?”

Caroline sighed. “Your father – and yes,” she silenced Abigail’s retort with her hand, “he is your father. He’s the one who raised you, changed your diapers, took you to feed the ducks, taught you to ride a bike – all the stuff that fathers do! – but he wasn’t born here, Abigail. He’s not part of the Valley, its blood, and bones and soil. To him, monsters are just myths, stories to amuse children.”

“Serve him right if a slime ended up in his shop,” Abigail muttered. She’d contemplated it. “And he thinks girls should stay at home, cook for their spouses. The whole barefoot and pregnant nonsense, while they birth the requisite two point five children.” Caroline flinched. “He has old-fashioned views, yes. But he worries about you, Abigail. I mean, look at your Uncle Marlon.”

“Tall, built like a brick sh– ed, and totally, happily – finally – in love?” Abigail replied. She knew where Caroline was going, of course, but she wasn’t going to be led their lightly. “I have. He’s totes like, my inspiration.”

“He lost his eye to the mines.” Caroline sighed. “Almost lost his life. His leg’s buggered. He’s covered in scars, and one day the mines will destroy him. Like they destroyed Roland Alexander – and your grandfather.”

“Mines didn’t kill him,” Abigail pointed out. “Old age got him in the end. And there’s nothing wrong with Grandpa Gil. He’s a hoot.”

“It stole his mind,” Caroline returned. “I don’t want that to happen to you too, hun.” She patted Abigail on the knee. “If I’d known the price, I’m not sure I would’ve accepted Rasmus’s... solution.”

Rasmus? Oh yes, Rasmodius. They’d been kids together. Abigail tried, hard, to imagine what her biological father would have been like as a teenager. Somewhere between the facial hair, he’d probably once been handsome. Now, he just seemed to be trying to hide himself.

“Aww, come on mom.” She sat up and nudged her mother. “You’re saying you wish I’d never been born?”

“Yoba no!” Caroline looked aghast. “Just... well... with him as your father, of course the caves would call to you. Be careful, please,” she added. “I know you’re friends with that Jasper kid... but, tread wary. Remember, what the Void takes, it does not relinquish easily.”

“Didn’t take you for the religious type, Mom,” Abigail said it teasingly, but felt a sinking sensation in her heart. She was playing with shadows and fire – only time would tell if she were going to get burned.


	4. Summer Breeze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jasper meets his daughter.  
Shane does not approve.
> 
> (Because of the fact Jasper's name often gets abbrieviated to 'Jas', I have taken to refering to Jas as 'Jasmine' throughout this story. I understand that this may not be intended to be her actual name in canon, but this is my story and my interpretation - and there wasn't much else I could shorten 'Jasper' to.)

Jasper had managed to dig a pair of board shorts out of the trunk of rejects. It was obvious why they’d been rejected: they were the swimwear equivalent of a Hawaiian shirt. Ridiculously colorful, and fell almost to his knees.  
He padded back downstairs, to find the wizard in the kitchen.

“Busy day ahead?” Rasmodius asked. He stood before the bat’s cage, feeding it pieces of fruit through the bars. 

Jasper shrugged. “Not really,” he lied. Didn’t want to tell Rasmodius that he might be meeting Jasmine – properly – for the first time since he’d stepped back into the sunlight. Wasn’t sure how he felt about it. What if she hated him? He’d tormented her dreams for months.

“I didn’t know bats ate fruit,” he commented, in a desperate bid to distract Rasmodius.

“This little fellow is known as Pteropus fructusphilia. Also known as a fruit bat. I believe a number were imported into the valley by an eccentric enthusiast early last century. And, indeed, almost reached plague proportions. Probably why the Void corrupts them so readily.” He scratched the bat’s head. “But I think I’ll call him Bobby.”

“Bobby?” Jasper shook his head and shouldered his backpack. He’d taken Abigail’s advice, and thrown in the bottle of sunscreen. Maybe if he asked her nicely, she’d rub it on his back.

Or maybe not.

He’d studied himself in the full length mirror, wondering how the others would see him. He was too skinny, for a start. Wasn’t even sure what he’d been eating for the last ten years. Shadows and dust? Dreams and memories? Bats or rock crabs? Even now, he had to be reminded to eat. It wasn’t that he didn’t like food – it just felt so... unnecessary. Like a hobby he’d given up on. 

His glasses were a decade out of fashion – he’d hoped, if his body had remade itself or something, that it would’ve fixed his short-sightedness, but no such luck. At least his prescription didn’t appear to have changed drastically. Thank Yoba, Marnie had still had his old spare pair lying around.

(“Your mother never asked for your clothes back,” she’d said, handing him the cardboard box. “They’ve been sitting in the attic. You’re welcome to them, if you want them.” He’d accepted; they smelt of must and memories of a better time.) Really, he looked like a drug-addicted reject from the sixties. 

“You kids have fun,” Rasmodius called after him.

Why did he detect the hint of a threat?

Abigail waited for him near Darkhaven’s southern gate. For all her somewhat annoying tendencies, she certainly looked cute in her two-piece swimsuit. He didn’t know the technical terms: it wasn’t a bikini, but a sort of black-and-white short top that supported her (rather ample) breasts and exposed her belly button (in which glittered a silver stub), paired with a skimpy sort of pant/skirt thing that showed her lean thighs to their full advantage. Jasper couldn’t help but wonder how they might feel, wrapped around his waist. She could probably snap you in two, he reminded himself.

“Do you like what you see?” She grinned impishly, catching his appraising eye and doing a little twirl.

Yes, dammit. Yes he did. Even if her combat boots rather ruined the overall effect.

She’s not Mona, he reminded himself. But he was quite glad for his long t-shirt and the towel he’d wrapped around his waist.

His blush answered her question, anyway. She reached out and closed her hand around his. “Come on. The others are waiting.”

Butterflies of panic awoke in his belly. A whole damn flock of them, and they must be Void-infected, because they brought with them a fierce roiling nausea.

“I’m not sure I can do it,” he whispered. Shocked at how his voice sounded.

(Coward-you-hurt-everything-you-love, the voices goaded.)

Abigail’s fingers tightened, squeezed once, twice, three quick squeezes. “Sure you can,” she said. “Shit Zombie, you faced the goddamn worst storm in history, and died to protect the one you loved.”

“Did I?” (Of-course-you-didn’t, you-abandoned-her.)

“Yes,” she said, and so authoritatively that he almost believed her. “She told me, you know. We were best friends, remember?”

Before I came between you, he thought. Before I dragged her away, and into the mines and let the darkness taint us both.

Did he believe her? No. But he oh, so, desperately wanted to. She must’ve felt it in his grip, or perhaps she sensed it (she seemed to be uncannily intuitive, something that he hadn’t expected, since Abigail, initially, came across as very superficial), because she loosened her death grip, and guided him through the gate.

He’d visited Darkhaven once since he’d returned – to thank Isla. When she’d first visited him in his castle at the heart of the abyss, he’d thought her some sort of goddess. Later, he vaguely recalled propositioning her. That memory still made him shudder. 

You’re not the Prince, he reminded himself. You are Jasper Thomas, the boy who was lost, and the man who was found. But that dark Prince, the prince who would happily sacrifice a child for power over the night... that darkness was still a part of him.

Isla stood waist-deep in the shallows. The waters of the pool, which had apparently been inky black and viscous – the gateway to the prince’s dark abode – now so crystalline clear that the stones at the bottom could be counted, if he were so inclined. Water bubbled up against the distant shore – a spring? – and tiny colorful fish darted beneath the surface.

She was wearing a bikini, her belly exposed, and he felt a cold chill at the tattoo surrounding her belly-button: a circlet of runes. When he’d first seen them, they’d been fresh, crude, but these had been crafted by a professional. He’d touched them, once, and his fingers tingled at the memory.

Protective runes.

The smile she greeted him with was tentatively warm. Like she wanted to reassure him that she no longer considered him a threat, but could not quite hide the memories.

(You’re-a-monster. Once-a-monster-always-a-monster.)

The smile she gifted to Abigail was much warmer. “You guys made it! The water’s pretty chilly.”

“Where’s lover-boy?” Abigail asked.

“Jasmine wanted to show him the junimo,” Isla replied. “She’s taken them some tribute – hot peppers and blueberries. Wouldn’t believe me when I told her Shane wouldn’t see them.”

“Can you see them?” Abigail asked Jasper.

He shrugged. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Forest spirits,” Isla continued. “How are you, Jasper? Coping okay with everything? Is Uncle treating you right?”

Uncle? Oh yeah, she was Rasmodius’s niece. Why did it seem that everyone here was interconnected and related? But that was small towns for you. “It’s fine,” he said. “He’s...” – weird, a little creepy, and sometimes downright menacing – “fine.”

Isla rose her eyebrows. “Funny word ‘fine’,” she remarked. “It can mean everything’s good or everything’s shite. Come in.” She splashed water in their direction.

Abigail cast her towel to one side and kicked her boots off, skipping into the water. She gasped a little at the chill of it, then dove under, and erupted, gasping, to the surface.

“Holy Yoba,” she whispered. “You weren’t shitting about it being cold.” She stood and glanced around. “No more catfish?”

“No more catfish,” Isla confirmed.

Jasper tried not to focus too much on the water droplets that clung to her skin, at how her nipples pricked up against the pleated fabric of her top. 

At least the cold water would cool his ardor. He dropped the towel, but left the shirt on. Didn’t really want to either women – both of whom were undeniably attractive (must be those damn Alexander genes) – to see quite how pale and twig-like he was. The chill bit straight to his bones, pebbling his skin with gooseflesh.

“Fuck,” he hissed through his teeth. Well, he had been warned.

“It’s a fresh spring,” Isla informed him. “Bubbling straight from your ice castle, no doubt.”

“My ice castle?”

Laughter, coming through the trees. 

“I can’t believe you can’t see them, dad!” Jasmine’s voice, bright with childish enthusiasm. “They were right there! One of them was even on your shoulder! Couldn’t you even, like, feel it?”

“Well, I did feel something,” a deeper voice conceded. “But I can’t see them, Jas. I guess I just ain’t magical enough.”

“You’re plenty magical.” Isla strolled from the water, and wrapped her arms around Shane. He stumbled back.

“You’re cold, and soaking wet!” he laughed, pretending to push her away. But she seized him by the wrist and started dragging him towards the water. “Oh, come on babe!” he protested. “I’m still wearing my shoes.”

Then his eyes alighted on Jasper.

Jasper wanted to shrink inside his skin. Maybe sink below the surface and let the water close over his head.

(Just-let-go, the voices crooned.)

Abigail closed in on him, draped her arm around his waist, and pressed herself against him. Probably, he thought, in an effort to reassure him, but it had the opposite effect.

Despite the icy chill of the water beaded on her skin, her touch burned. Straight to his dark and shriveled heart.

“It’s okay,” she whispered.

“Hello Jasper,” Shane said, and he sounded almost... cautious?

(The-last-time-he-saw-you-he-tried-to-beat-you-to-a-pulp, the voices chimed in. And the last time I saw him, I had him beaten to a pulp, Jasper reminded them.)

“Hi,” Jasper ventured. “Um, I’m sorry,” he said. Sorry for knocking up your sister, having you kidnapped. For the role I played in her death. For inviting the Void into our life. “I’m sorry she’s… gone.”

Anger flashed in Shane’s eyes, for a heartbeat, and Jasper saw his muscles tense. Thought, in one panicking moment: He’s going to finish what the Void began.

And, for just a heart-beat, almost wished it were true.

Then Jasmine kicked off her flip-flops and skipped into the water. Unlike the others, she didn’t flinch at the water’s chill touch, instead splashed over to Jasper and flung her arms around his waist.

“You don’t need to be lonely anymore,” she said, and rested her head against his stomach.

He found his hand rested on her hair almost involuntarily. This was his Jasmine. His daughter. His – and Mona’s.

It was hard to look up, to meet Shane’s eyes. The raw anger had diminished, but his smile didn’t extend past his lips. Isla had closed in on him, put her hand on his shoulder. Arched on her toes to whisper something in his ear. He responded with a grudging nod.

“I’m pleased to finally meet you,” Jasper managed to get out, past the hard lump in his throat. 

(Children-are-delicious. Their-innocence-tastes-so-sweet.

Fuck off, Jasper growled at the voices.)

He’d haunted her dreams, disrupted her sleep, and she had worried about him?

“Me too,” she replied. “You’re not as big and scary in real life.”

“I’m glad,” Jasper replied, finding within himself a shaky laugh. How hard had he been on this kid? “I hope I didn’t frighten you too much.”

“That’s okay,” she said. “I forgive you. You were only mean cos you were scared. Like the stray cat that got shut in the shed.”

Was he scared then? Maybe. But Yoba, it was nothing compared to how scared he was now. Scared at how much this small, precocious child could make him feel. Fiercely protective. And terrified. Terrified he was going to fuck everything up and hurt her again. Scared at the ache of emotion in his cold, dead heart.

Shane’s gaze was not nearly as forgiving. His grip on Isla’s hand tight enough that his knuckles were white. She bore it stoically, her arm around his waist.

I might be her father, Jasper had told him, deep in the abyss beneath the lake. But you’re her dad. But he wasn’t sure Shane believed that. Wasn’t sure Shane trusted him not to usurp his position, or to harm this beautiful, precious child.

Already though, Jasper knew, he would kill for her. For his daughter.

This daughter he hadn’t wanted – in the start – and now was quite sure he didn’t deserve. Her conception had filled him with a heart-chilling terror. A life sentence. Not as a father, but as a monster – a monster who would impregnate an underage girl (no matter that she’d been a more than willing participant – the authorities wouldn’t have cared about that).

Shane had found out, and kicked Jasper’s ass – a gridiron player VS a scrawny teenager; he’d suffered a bruised spleen, battered kidneys, and spent several days in hospital. 

(But-you-deserved-it, the voices whispered. He-should’ve-killed-you. 

If he had, would Mona still be dead?)

No, he and Shane could never be friends.

But, perhaps, they could find a compromise.

He managed to disentangle himself from her grip and waded to the shore. Offered his hand to the taller, broader man. Sure, Shane was no longer built like the proverbial shit-house – some of his muscle had sagged – but if it came down to a fight, no-one would be putting their money on Jasper.

“You’re her dad,” Jasper said. “And I’ve no intention on taking that away from you. But, I’d like to be her friend, if I could? Or maybe... maybe like an uncle?”

Shane cast a glance at Isla, seeking her console. Jasper wondered if anyone would ever look at him, the way these two looked at each other. Like equals. Like soul mates. Isla gave a small nod, a smile twitching on her lips.

Jasper released a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding, and Shane grasped his hand – very firm grip, Jasper noted – more like an arm wrestle than a hand-shake. He caught his gaze, Shane’s deep blue eyes boring deep, as though trying to see right into Jasper’s soul.

Jasper blinked first, and looked away.

“Fine,” Shane said. “But if you hurt her – even the tiniest hair on her head – I’ll break you.”

Jasper almost laughed at that. Because, this was not the first time Shane had made such a promise/threat.

“You can join the queue,” he replied.

*

“And that noisy bird,” Jasmine informed them seriously, “is a crested jerjar-bird.”

Jasper cast a glance at Abigail. “She’s making them up,” he said. “She’s got to be!” 

Abigail shrugged. “Why’s it called a jerjar-bird?” she asked, as if the answer wasn’t fairly obvious.

“Cos that’s the noise it makes. Jeeer-jaaar” Her imitation was passable, and the bird – probably a jay – called back its response.

Jasper shivered a little beneath the dense canopy. There was something oppressive, almost primeval, about Darkhaven’s small forest – the way the trees loomed over them, their roots vast and buttressed. Creatures scurried and scuttled through the undergrowth.

“These trees are ancient,” he commented. “I’m surprised Alexander never cleared them.”

“He was friends with the junimo,” Jasmine declared. “So he kept it for them. Can you hear them?” 

All three of them froze. Jasper pricked his ears. The ‘jerjar-bird’ was still the most vocal of the forest inhabitants, but beneath its cries, he heard something else, a faint chirping. “You mean the sparrows?” he whispered.

“Not sparrows.” Jasmine sounded almost frustrated. “Junimo. Look, there’s one right there.” She pointed into the foliage, the leaf wobbled, disturbed by the breeze.

“Men,” Abigail said with a sigh. “They’re so oblivious.” She reached for Jasper’s hand and entwined her fingers around his. “Sorry kiddo, I guess they only show themselves to us special people.” She shot Jasper a teasing smile. Squeezed his hand.

Why was she like this? So... touchy-feely? It wasn’t that he didn’t like it, it was more that... couldn’t she sense the darkness in him? He drew his hand away and crossed his arms. The sunlight danced across their skin, still damp from the lake waters. Jasmine was wearing one of Isla’s oversized, faded band t-shirts; it came down to her knees. But Abigail had merely draped her towel around her shoulders. He’d wrapped his around his waist, like a sarong.

“That’s a pil-e-ated woodpecker.” Jasmine pointed at a large black and white bird moving through the trees, traceable by the tap-tap-tap of its beak against wood.

“Trent taught you all the birds, didn’t he?” Abigail said.

“Poppa knew lots,” Jasmine declared. “I miss him heaps. No-one seems to talk about him, anymore. Or Mona,” she added. “Except you.”

“It’s like they’ve been forgotten,” Abigail arched on her toes, to say to Jasper. “Like death has erased them from existence. I think it’s sad.”

Jasper knew how it felt. He’d walked through the village a couple of times, and people stared at him, as though he were a stranger, or glanced past him, as if he were a ghost. Then again, he’d always been an outsider – one of the ‘ranch kids’. But he would’ve thought Alex, at least, might have recognized him. They’d been in the same bio class at Stardew Valley High, after all.

“I never forgot you,” she added. Then laughed. “I mean, I never much liked you. You did, after all, steal my best friend’s heart away. But, at least I hung onto that grudge for ten years.”

“And now?” he couldn’t help but ask.

“I still miss her,” she said. “I think I always will.” The moment of wistful sorrow quickly replaced by another of her over-enthusiastic grins. “We’re here, guys! My cottage. Check out the sweet, sweet work Robin’s done on it.”

“It’s like something from a storybook!” Jasmine gave a small shriek of delight, and bounded ahead, along the broken tiles of the path. 

There was a pinkish cast to the stone walls, and fresh white paint highlighted the windows. The roof seemed more garden than anything else, vibrant and alive with wildflowers, although they’d been cleared on one side to make room for solar panels and an aerial. Bees buzzed cheerfully around them, and a couple of colorful butterflies danced through the sky.

“Can’t be without the inter-webs,” Abigail declared. “You wanna do the honors?” She handed Jasmine an oversized key.

Jasper rose his eyebrows at her questioningly. “You really need to lock it?” he wondered. “Who’s going to find it in here?”

“You,” she said, and kissed him on the cheek. “I hope.” Then skipped off before he’d had time to fully assimilate what she was implying.

Was she hitting on him? Was that an invitation?

No. Probably just Abigail being Abigail.

Jasmine had the door open quick-smart, disappeared into the dark interior. He heard her gasps of delighted surprise, and followed Abigail through the door.

The interior was sparse, but what it lacked in furnishings it made up for in charm. A built-in bookcase lined one wall, the natural timber of it matching well with the overall woodsy feel of the cabin, a few books lay strewn across it, and one shelf held a large cage.

“Hey Davey,” Jasmine said, padding over to it. “How do you like your new home?” A pink nose and some whiskers poked between the bars, round pink ears flicking. Jasmine stroked the tri-colored Guinea pig’s head with one hand, then fished a blueberry out of her pocket and fed it to him. “Sorry it’s a bit squished,” she added.

The bed was set into an alcove in the wall, drawers beneath it. Abigail flopped onto it. What Jasper had initially taken to be an orange cushion rose its furry head, and ‘mirrepped’ at them.

“Magnus?” he said, recognizing the tufted ears. What was Rasmodius’s cat doing here? The cat stood, arched its back and tail.

“His name’s not Magnus,” Jasmine declared, abandoning the Guinea pig to scratch the cat between its ears. “Isla calls him Titus.” It rubbed its furry cheeks against her arm and emitted a deep, rumbling purr. “But that’s not really his name either.”

“It’s quite some cat,” Jasper replied. Magnus eyed him suspiciously, ears lowered, lips drawn back. Unlike the girls, the cat could sense the darkness in him – and it didn’t like him. “I don’t think it likes me much,” he added.

“Don’t be silly,” Jasmine protested, although she did eyeball him suspiciously. “Mister Ginger only dislikes bad people.”

“I’m going to get changed,” Abigail informed them. “Jas, why don’t you take Jasper into the kitchen, and rustle up some lunch. You must be hungry. There’s some food in the fridge.”

That hollow ache in his belly? Was that hunger? 

Jasmine’s small, delicate hand wrapped around his. She was so damned trusting. He didn’t deserve to be trusted. 

(You’re-a-monster. You-hurt-the-ones-you-love.)

But he was unable to resist.

The kitchen was still a work in progress. There was an empty space where a stove should sit, and a crate on the floor covered in a white tablecloth, and surrounded by cushions, instead of a table. There was, however, a small refrigerator, not much larger than a bar fridge. Inside, some cold cuts, a jar containing something pickled, and a cake with sickly pink icing. 

Jasmine, clearly familiar with the place, began to set the table.

“Four plates?” Jasper asked her. “Who’s the extra one for?”

“Mister Ginger, of course,” she said, and dished up some chunks of smoked fish and feta. The cat padded in a few moments later, kneaded its massive paws against the cushion, then sat on it and licked its lips. It was still studying Jasper as if he were a potential threat, he noted.

“Can you please slice the bread?” Jasmine asked Jasper. “Auntie Abby doesn’t like me using the bread knife.”

“I’m not sure how I’d explain it to Shane if she chopped off a finger.” Abigail walked in. She’d drawn her hair back and tucked it under a towel. Was wearing a sundress that somehow ended up being both Gothic and summery simultaneously. 

“Now,” Jasmine said, as they sat down with their messily assembled sandwiches. “Let’s eat.”

*

“Can you tell me about my mom?” Jasmine asked, licking pink icing off her fingers. “Or would that make you too sad? It makes Uncle Shane sad,” she added. She drew herself over to lean against him, and placed her hand on his chest, above his heart. “Auntie Marnie says it’s good to remember those who are gone.”

Even those his stomach was full, fit to overflowing, Jasper felt a raw hollow ache in his chest. “What would you like to know?” he asked.

She pondered the question, face serious. Her other hand gently stroked the cat’s thick fur. “I wanna know how you fell in love,” she said.

Jasper glanced up at Abigail. She had collected up the plates, and taken them over to the sink, was boiling water to wash them with. (“Haven’t had the hot water cylinder installed yet.”). Could see that she was listening.

“I was staying at the ranch,” he said. “Where you live now. Cos my mother wasn’t very well. Hadn’t been well since my father went into the caves and never came out again.”

Jasmine gave a small gasp of horror. “Did he ever?”

“No,” Jasper whispered. “No-one has seen him ever since. Anyway, Mona was living on the ranch too, with her brother – your Uncle Shane – and some other kids too. Kids that didn’t have parents, or whose parents couldn’t look after them. And Mona was just like this... this radiant, bright light. Like, she was so full of energy and love. And she looked at me – a skinny, clumsy geek who didn’t have the faintest idea how to even talk to girls – and she decided to become my friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the typos. I finished this novel in December, and you'd think I would've fixed the errors... but no, I started writing SDV mods instead (including adding several scenes from my stories, some of the plots, and two characters loosely based on characters from them, but NOT the same!*). I admit I display an excessive use of commas, and should cull them. Hopefully they don't distract from the enjoyment of the story.
> 
> [* My NPC Jasper mod is closer to Jasper Sr than the troubled ex-prince of the void of this story.]


	5. Young Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jasper's memories take us back to 2008 or so, where Mona leads Jasper astray.  
There's quite a few flashbacks in this one, I wanted readers to feel like they knew Mona.
> 
> (I realize now Gunther's history doesn't quite fit with the canon. Um... maybe assume he and his mom moved to the Fern islands at some point over his teenage years and he then returned to work with Jasper Sr?)

Then

Jasper and Mona had been kids together – their parents (well, Jasper’s parents, Mona’s adopted parents) were friends and they’d seen each other on festivals or holidays. Shane and Jasper, being closer in age, had hung out together, trading – and playing – Pokemon cards, or competing in video games, Shane had, with minimal success, tried to teach Jasper how to kick a gridiron ball and handle a tackle, but he’d always gone down too hard. Alex had been the third member of their gang. The same age as Jasper, he’d mostly been somewhat subdued, interspersed with the occasional burst of arrogant bravado. Alex always acted like he had something to prove. It was only, as he’d got older, that Jasper had realized that Alex’s bravado was mostly a shield – a mask. And the only person he really felt like he had to prove anything to was himself.

Being a couple of years older than her, Jasper hadn’t really paid Mona a lot of heed. She’d been Shane’s rambunctious little sister, who, with her friend Abigail, were always running around causing mischief: leaping out of the hayloft, sneaking frogs into the boys’s shoes. Jasper would never forget the horrible squishy, wet feeling when he sunk his bare foot into a gumboot.

They’d been nice pranks too. Once, when he’d been sad – soon after his father vanished, and he could see his mother beginning to slip away – he’d found an ocean-polished nautilus fossil in his pocket. He’d found it again recently, in Marnie’s box of his belongings.

Jasper Senior had been a scholar and an archeologist. He worked with Gunther Jensen, the curator of the Pelican Town museum, finding and studying the early artifacts, trying to get the feel if what the Valley had been like before.

Before the Werners and the Alexanders, before the Void.

He’d had some outlandish theories. Theories that made him the laughing stock of his peers, and led him to throw himself more fully into work, so dive deeper into the caves, seeking some truth that only he believed in.

Until that day he’d never come out.

They’d searched, of course, Marlon and Rasmodius, Gilbert and Roland. Plus, various search and rescue teams from Grampleton, and even as far away as Zuzu City.

But it was as though his father had been erased off the face of the world.

His mother had never recovered, had surrendered Jasper and Marcus into Marnie’s care, while she numbed her grief.

And that was when Jasper had noticed Mona had bloomed from a skinny, somewhat annoying kid and into a beautiful woman.

Jasper could never be sure if she’d been attracted to him at the start: with his John Lennon glasses and his shoulder-length, mouse-brown curls. Perhaps she’d just been bored – or worse, trying to annoy her brother. He’d struggled to talk to girls, was as awkward and stuttering as they came. Hell, if he wanted to admit it to himself, he was still pretty awkward and stuttering around girls. (Then again, he had lived alone in an ice castle for ten years, so he supposed at least now he had an excuse.) Whatever the reason, she’d taken him by the hand, and guided him into her magical world. And, predictably, he’d lost his heart to her.

*

“Come on!” Mona urged. “Just a little bit further. You can do it.” The light from Jasper’s headlamp danced around, the motion making him feel faintly nauseous.

He grunted. His arms strained, the chain-link of the fence biting into his fingers. He reached the ridge, where a manky old rug lay over the barbed-wire like a moth-eaten saddle. 

This is a stupid idea, he reprimanded himself, but swung his leg over anyway, bracing himself against the bite of metal through the fabric.

But pain never came. Instead, he straddled the fence, the wind teasing at his hair. The height was slightly giddying. It wasn’t so much that Jasper was afraid of heights – the fence was only about twelve feet high, but more that his footing was flimsy. He pulled himself over and began to scramble down the other side, the thin wire biting into his hands.

“Haven’t you always wondered what the mines were like?”

“They devoured my grandfather,” he said, swallowing around the lump in his throat. You’re a coward, Jasper Thomas.

“You know, the mines are still burning,” Mona replied, tone almost flippant. “You can see them glowing, from up on the summit.”

His flailing foot lowered him down another step, and another, Mona’s arms closed around his waist, embrace warm and surprisingly strong, given how small she was, and eased him to the ground.

“Do you think they’ll ever find them?” he asked, hands dropping to his knees and back hunching as he struggled to regain composure. “My grandfather – and the others that were lost.”

“I doubt it,” Mona replied. “They’re probably little more than dust and ash, now.”

“So this is it then.” He rose his head, and swept light across the condemned village: Pelican Town’s dark and forgotten legacy. Wind rattled through the broken window panes, sent scraps of paper and other debris fluttering through the streets. The buildings were empty shells, with hollow, staring eyes.

“How many people once lived here?” Mona asked.

Jasper shivered. “Hundreds,” he replied. “Maybe even thousands, back in the seventies – before...” before the ore had diminished, the gemstones run out. His parents had grown up here – the children of miners. 

Something moved up ahead, something large and furry, and both of them froze. Mona caught it in her headlamp. A raccoon, fat as a house cat, its eyes glowed red in the beam of their headlamps. It hissed, its teeth a flash of white, then darted away.

“Shit,” Mona whispered. “Do you think it might have rabies?” She reached out, lopped her fingers through Jasper’s. Squeezed his hand. He loved the touch of her skin against his, even though he was certain his hands must be sweaty and gross.

“Trent would’ve warned us, if there was rabies about,” he pointed out. Tried to stifle the thrill of sensation, as Mona absentmindedly ran her thumb along the back of his hand. “Have you been here before?”

Her laughter sounded strange against the vastness of the twilight sky, studded with stars. It added a touch of innocent joy to the endless infinite. “Of course,” she replied. “Come on.” 

The main street had once been a wide boulevard, flanked with cherry trees. Now overgrown, they’d left the ground littered with spoiled fruit and carpeted with dead leaves. Cherry pits cracked beneath their feet; the sound like splintering bones. The road was a mass of potholes and cracks, lines of grass and moss, broken with wildflowers. It had been twenty years since the land had been condemned, the people evacuated, and nature had claimed her back. They passed a bakery, the shriveled, mummified remnants of sweets and savories gathering dust in the display case near the window, surrounded by a scattering of raisin-like dead flies. A bicycle lay on one side, wheels stiff with rust. In the newsagent, the magazine rack still held faded memories of celebrities of a bygone era. Outside what must have once been a movie theater, the Lumière, a poster displayed a freakish harlequin perched on a house. 

“Come on,” Mona guided him through the shattered glass of the door, into the dark interior. The carpet was stained and damp, the air thick with mildew.

“Isn’t it marvelous?” she said. From another poster, a crazed rabbit grinned at them, the words “coming soon” emblazoned across its chest.

Jasper wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Creepy, dark, dank. Yes, but... marvelous? “You should bring Katie here,” he suggested. “She’d flip out.”

Mona shuddered. “No way.” He hadn’t realized, until then, just how much Mona disliked the other girl. Katie was annoying. She carried her bright pink camera everywhere, and had the annoying tendency of popping up when you least wanted to see her, and snapping pictures. She’d scored one of Jasper, the other day, when he’d slipped over in cow crap while cleaning out Dandelion’s pen.

There was nothing like a photograph of you covered in shit posted to social media to spoil your street cred.

Not that Jasper really had any street cred to spoil. 

“I bet your parents used to go on dates here,” Mona declared. She pushed open the swinging door, and stepped into the actual theater. 

It was in better condition than the entrance hall – probably because there were no windows to be shattered, and it had remained dry, although the air held a thick, shivery chill. The seats were plush, if a little threadbare, the screen a pale white abyss against the far wall.

She guided him to the front of the theater, and gestured for him to sit. He drew the seat forward, flinching a little as it screeched in protest, and sat down tentatively. Mona drew down the seat beside him. She rested her hand on his arm, ran her fingers along it, and interlaced her fingers with his.

“What do you think they would’ve watched here?” she said, leaning back and staring at the blank white screen. This close, he could see the patches of mildew.

“Beetlejuice?” he hazarded a guess, naming the movie that was on the poster.

“Have you seen it?” She drew her knees up, kneeled on her seat and pressed her head against his cheek.

He shook his head. “It looks weird.”

“I’ve watched a few of the movies from then,” she said. “Marnie has quite a collection. She calls them her ‘nostalgia indulgence’.” Her fingers combed through his hair, stirring him in ways that he was not entirely comfortable with. “We could watch them, sometime, if you liked? 

Jasper shivered beneath her touch. “I would like that,” he whispered.

She drew herself up higher, so that her face was mere inches form his. Which, of course, immediately made him conscientious about the state of his breath. What was the last thing he’d eaten? Dammit, why hadn’t he brought any chewing gum with him? Or even a peppermint.

“You know what else they probably did, in here?” she breathed in his ear. The gentle whisper of her made his nerves twitch; Her mischievous smile that made his heart glow, his knees weak – and his loins tighten.

“I want you to kiss me,” she whispered.

I can’t. Jasper thought, panic kicking hard against his ribs. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. Yoba, he’d been fantasizing about her for weeks – for months. But... making those fantasizes reality? That was another matter. “I don’t know how,” he whispered, his voice cracking. Shit, so embarrassing, like he was still a kid.

“I’m not sure either,” she replied. “I was hoping we might...” she hid her face behind her hair, giggled nervously, “...learn together?”

Holy Yoba. He could deny her nothing. His hand found her face, gently stroked the curve of her cheek. She brought her fingers to his face, traced his smile. 

Then, she brought her lips to his.

Warm, tentative. And so very, very soft.

For a moment, he felt as though he were melting into her. 

Then, she moved her head, her tongue gently prodding, and he jerked in surprise. They moved forward again simultaneously, foreheads bumping together. Mona started giggling, dizzy with nerves.

“It looked easier in the movies,” she said.

“It’s a little weird,” Jasper confided. “But I like it. What do you–”

Her hands closed around his head, drawing him back towards her. He moved too fast, and their noses bumped – which led to further laughter, but after a little more awkward fumbling, some accident hair-pulling, and a few more knocked noses and bumped foreheads, they managed to master the skill.

It required a lot of practice.


	6. Monster?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Void won't let Jasper go.

Now

Jasper stared at the monstrosity that was the JojaMart. With its hard lines and stark colors, it felt out of place against the whimsical old-fashioned charm of Pelican Town – almost as though it had crashed in from a different era. 

“It makes no sense,” he’d commented earlier, to Rasmodius. “Why in the Void would they construct a JojaMart here? – it’s not like there’s many people. Surely they don’t get a lot of customers.” Even the general store must barely survive.

Rasmodius had raised one of his bushy eyebrows and regarded Jasper as though he were a curiosity – something the young man had become very much used to. “It is good to ask questions,” he said. “But know that JojaCorp seek far more than just custom. They seek domination.”

The land had been cheap. Jasper had never attended Pelican Town’s tiny elementary school – he’d been born in larger, neighboring Grampleton – but, once, where the delivery trucks parked and unloaded their wares, children had played basketball, or tennis. Where the building now stood, they’d learned arithmetic and English, studied the local flora and fauna. Now... it was a mega-corporation store.

Although, as far as mega-corps went, it was pretty small. 

He took a deep breath, pushed open the door, and walked in.

“Good morning, and welcome to JojaMart,” the greeter intoned, voice devoid of emotion. “Are you a member of our loyalty program?”

Jasper shook his head. “I’ve just come into buy a few things.” He grabbed a basket quickly, and hurried off into the aisles. 

“If you’re staying under my roof,” Rasmodius had said to him, over a breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast – so very arcane – “then, I shall expect you to complete my mundane errands.” Rasmodius often talked like that, as though it somehow made him sound more mysterious and otherworldly. However, Jasper had also seen him wandering the house half asleep, wearing a dressing gown covered with cartoon rabbits in top-hats, and ridiculous fluffy slippers designed to look like dinosaur feet. (“Abigail gave them to me,” he’d said, answering Jasper’s questioning glance). It did make him harder to take seriously.

“Jasper?” a hesitant voice came, from partly behind a stacked pile of cans. “Holy Yoba, dude. It is you.”

Jasper felt his heart twinge. “Alex?”

They’d been friends, once, hadn’t they? Alex was taller, broader, than Jasper remembered. He wore a green sports jacket, his hair styled short and fashionable.

“Yoba man,” he said. “I heard you’d come back from the dead... but how, dude? How?” He scrutinized Jasper as though he were a specimen on a microscope slide. “You’re living with that weird wizard-dude, yeah? Did he, like, resurrect you or something?”

“Not exactly,” Jasper returned. Obviously, small town, everyone knew he was back. Yoba, he was probably the most interesting thing that had happened since, well, since his untimely demise, almost ten years earlier.

On Abigail’s birthday, his memory reminded him. You died on Abigail’s birthday. Maybe that was why she was so fascinated in him.

Alex paced around him, studying him. “You’re pale as,” he remarked. “You gotta spend more time in the sun. Soak up some rays. Or, are you a vampire or zombie, some sort of weird monster freak? Hey, do you drink blood?”

(You’re-a-freak, the voices purred. Monster.)

“No,” he replied. He’d been through this already with Abigail. Of course, she’d sounded faintly disappointed – he’d realized why when his eyes had skimmed her bookcase. Freaking ‘Twilight’ had a lot to answer for. “I don’t drink blood, and I don’t sparkle. And I definitely don’t wanna eat brains.”

“Figures. Organ meat and black pudding is full of vitamins and protein,” Alex replied. “You’d probably be much buffer if you added them to your diet.”

(You’re-ours-Jasper-Thomas.)

Jasper clasped his hands to his ears. Please, shut up, he urged the voices. They just laughed.

“Dude, you okay?” Alex’s voice held a hint of concern, but more of contempt. 

(Nobody-likes-you, Jasper-Thomas. Nobody-but-us. We-love-you. Come-back-to-us.)

“Fine,” he barked out, sounding way angrier than intended. He hoisted up his basket. “Gotta grab some... some stuff.”

(Oh-but-he-would-taste-delicious.)

“Fuck off,” Jasper growled, realized too late that he’d said it aloud. “No, not you,” he stammered, to Alex’s hate-filled glare.

(He-thinks-you’re-a-freak-Jasper-Thomas.)

“Whatever man.” Alex held his hands up, as though in surrender. “Yoba, didn’t mean to upset you or nothing. Just trying to be helpful.” Added, in a mumble, “freaking weirdo.”

(Weirdo-weirdo. Monster. Freak.)

Jasper stumbled through the aisles, trying to ignore the laughter. The eyes turned upon him, judging him. Rasmodius had given him a shopping list, but even though the wizard’s handwriting was neat and careful, the letters swam and twisted before Jasper’s eyes.

“Please,” he whispered. “Not here.” His heart raced, blood pounding in his ears.

(You’re-a-freak-a-freak-nobody-likes-you-you’re-a-monster. You-hurt-you-kill-you’re-a-freak.)

He began tossing items into the basket at random. Olive oil. Sugar. Eggs. Canned soup. Toilet paper. Where the hell was the toilet paper?

He stumbled round the corner and bumped into an older lady, with permed, peroxided hair and wearing far too much make-up.

“Watch where you’re going, punk!” she screeched at him.

He looked up, met her gaze – and whatever she saw in his eyes made her recoil, blood draining from her face. She traced the sign of the vessel across her chest.

“Holy Yoba,” she whispered. “Protect me from evil.” She stumbled back, almost knocking over a stack of cereal boxes.

(Evil. Monster. You’re-ours-Jasper-Thomas.)

Nausea roiled in his stomach. All he could hear, the drumming of blood in his ears, and the laughter of the voices. His feet took flight, and be bolted for the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” A man built like the proverbial brick house loomed in his path. “You gonna pay for those?”

Jasper felt something clench in his stomach. Bile rose, sour and rank in his throat. 

No. Not now. Please. No.

His stomach muscles refused to listen. His lips parted, and his breakfast spewed forth, splashing over the security guard’s shoes. The man’s eyes darkened with rage.

Jasper thrust the basket at the guard, and bolted, shoes skidding in his vomit. The voices followed him taunting and laughing.

(Freak. Freak. Freak. Freak!)

He made it as far as the library before his legs gave out; they folded beneath him and sending him crumpling into a miserable, broken pile. His sneakers – which had, like everything else, already been very worn – were now crusted with the remnants of his breakfast. What a goddamn fucking mess. He wanted to scream, he wanted to rage.

He wanted the ground to open up and swallow him away.

A faint tremor ran through the earth.

“No,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Stop.”

It fell still.

You’re a mess, Jasper Thomas.

Laughter, giggling. Two kids and a woman came along the path, headed directly towards the library. He huddled, drew himself back against the wall. He couldn’t bear the thought of Jasmine seeing him like this. If he shrunk up small enough, perhaps he’d just....

...disappear.

“Are you all right?” A voice, radiant with concern. Not Jasmine, but the woman with them. What was her name, again? Penny? 

“I’m fine,” he ground out, well aware that he sounded anything but. “Please,” he added. “Just leave me alone.”

“Are you sick?” Yoba, she was persistent. “Do you want me to call Doctor Harvey?”

He shook his head, no energy to speak.

Jasmine appeared by his shoulder. Her hand on his arm. Her touch like a ray of light. Incandescent. “Father?” she said.

His heart skipped a beat at the title. He didn’t deserve her. He didn’t deserve anyone. “Please,” his voice so hoarse and raw. “Just... leave me alone.”

He could almost feel his daughter’s heart break. 

“You’ve been alone too long,” she said. “You don’t need to be alone anymore.” She gently kissed his cheek and brushed her fingers across his forehead. Her touch was like sunlight. 

Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, trickled down his cheeks. He couldn’t stop them, couldn’t contain them.

“Come on.” Penny took her hand, guided her away. “I think he needs to be left alone.”

Alone. Alone.

You don’t need to be alone anymore, Jasper Thomas.

But I’m a monster. And I hurt the ones I love.


	7. Innocence Faded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another flashback.  
TW: contains consensual sexual interactions between two teenagers.  
(note: the "age of consent" in my country is 16, and I have chosen to reflect that in the world of my story).

Then

Mona had called them the ‘secret woods’, claimed that no-one else knew of their presence – that the huge log that had fallen across the path had proven too much of a deterrent for the locals. Jasper let her guide him over the log, scrambling up its massive side, the wood rough, biting into his bared knees.

He would’ve followed her anywhere. Even to the darkest depths of the Void.

Beyond, she led him into a glade of trees. Ancient boughs, with trunks too wide for the two of them to stretch around. Great stumps, that could easily have held a tea party for a giant.

“This is amazing,” Jasper remarked. “And no-one else knows about it?”

Mona gave a small shrug, her smile all fey mischief. “Of course not,” she said. “This will be our special place.” She paused, took her hands in his and gave him her dazzling smile. The smile that made his heart race, and his knees grow weak.

“How did you find it?”

She pecked a kiss upon his lips, then dropped his hands and danced away. picked up a stick, wielding it as though it were a sword. “I didn’t find it,” she said. “Pepper did. We were tracking down one of the straying sheep, and suddenly she took off, barking up a storm. She managed to squeeze under the log – but I had to scramble over it.”

Jasper found it hard to tear his eyes away from her, as she stretched and lunged. Her body so lithe and supple. She caught his gaze, winked, and tossed the stick at him.

He snatched for it, fumbled, and almost dropped it.

She picked up another one. “En garde!” She spun the stick, moved into strike him. He rose his, in an effort to block her, and she whacked it hard, sent it flying from his hand.

“Never learned to sword fight?” she asked, laughing. “What do they teach kids in school nowadays?”

“Where did you learn?”

“Uncle Marlon taught us – me and Abby – when we were kids. Until Abby’s mom totally flipped out. Then he just taught me.”

“But why?” 

Mona giggled. “For the monsters, of course! Slimes are super easy, they’re basically just blobs of jello – and as long as you don’t let them touch you, you can just stab until they turn to sludge. It’s quicker if you get them in the eyes. The bats are more of a challenge. Bit like playing tennis, but where a dozen balls are thrown at you at once – and they have teeth.” She slashed the stick through the air, jumping from foot to foot.

“Monsters?” Jasper repeated. Wasn’t Marlon in the Pest Control business or something? That’s what Auntie Marnie always called it. Although, now that he thought about it, she usually said it with a laugh.

“In the caves.” Mona gave a nonchalant shrug. “Animals, corrupted by the Void. You mean your father never taught you? About the taint of the Void and all that stuff?”

“No.” He’d taught Jasper about gem stones, and extravagant tales of dwarves and goblins, and the long-extinct elves, but he’d never mentioned monsters. Closest he’d got had been the Shadow People – the most mysterious of the demihuman beings. His incomprehension must’ve shown on his face, because she sighed and shook her head. “Never mind. You’ll see. But, right now, do you wanna learn how to use a sword?”

“Sure. Why not?” He scrambled to claim back his stick and followed her through the paces. He thrilled at the brush of her hands when she corrected his posture – her hand lingering, perhaps a little longer than was necessary, on the back of his leg. It wasn’t easy work though, and even though the stick wasn’t heavy, the muscles in his arms began to ache from the strain.

Summer had descended, hot upon them. Insects hummed in the trees, and sweat beaded their skin, making Mona’s sundress stick to her curves.

“It’s so hot,” she remarked, let the stick hang limp at her side, then dropped it to the ground. Her eyes alighted on the small pool, the centerpiece of the clearing. “I’m going to take a dip.”

But we didn’t bring our swimsuits, Jasper was about to protest, but realized that was exactly the point. He’d learned her body well enough by now – her pert breasts, the curve of her hips – but only through the brush of fabric. Now, she drew her yellow sundress over her head, and folded it neatly upon one of the tree stumps. Then, she stood before him in naught but her black bra and matching underwear. He felt his body stir in response. Although, truth be told, around her, it was never really still. The sunlight dappled across her olive skin, illuminated the purple highlights in her hair. He didn’t think she’d dyed it, more that it was magical – like the rest of her.

Then, Yoba forbid, she’d slipped the bra off, laid it next to the sundress. And dove gracefully into the pool. 

“Mona,” he shouted, ran to the bank. Certain she would’ve hit the bottom, maybe knocked herself unconscious or worse. How deep was it? 

Saw her deep, far beneath the surface, her hair spread out like a beautiful black fan. His eyes traced the curve of her spine, down to the tantalizing roundness of her backside. He kicked off his shoes, stripped off his shirt, prepared to... what? Jump in and rescue her?

Then she erupted from the waters beside him, like a goddamn mermaid.

Fuck, at the sight of her, gooseflesh prickling her small, yet perfect breasts, her nipples erect with the chill, he wanted nothing more than to devour her. His cock pulsated with heat, with need. And the shame of it made him want to draw back, into the trees, to ease the tension.

She just giggled. A siren seductress. Her eyes flicking to his (far too noticeable) hard-on. She reached for him, as though asking him to help haul her out of the water. And, fool that he was, he took her hands in his.

She tugged him sharply, pulling him into the water with an almighty SPLASH that sent the tiny, silver fish darting away. He fumbled for a moment. The water was so deep, the chill of it biting into his flesh, causing some of his arousal to retreat. Until, damn her, she wrapped her sleek, strong thighs around his waist, and dragged him into a kiss.

They went under again, of course, floundering and laughing, limbs flailing. Jasper wondered, for a fleeting moment, if she were trying to drown him.

“You’re mine, Jasper Thomas,” she said, when they surfaced, and she branded him with her lips, raking her teeth over his cold-pebbled skin. 

She guided him across the pool, until pebbles tumbled beneath his feet, and they could wrap their arms around each other, and smother each other with kisses, without any risk of drowning. 

“I want to sheathe your sword,” she whispered in his ear.

He gasped at the innuendo. She didn’t. Wouldn’t. Surely?

His cock throbbed so hard it physically ached. Her fingers trailed across his shorts and she fumbled with the drawstring. He whimpered his assent, helped her draw them down over his hips. 

A deep, choking gasp, when her hand closed about his erection. Fingers danced around the head, teased the sensitive ridge. He bit his lip, the taste of his blood, copper and warm on his tongue. Fuck. Holy fuck.

And then... sweet mother of Yoba... she lowered her head, and closed her lips about it. Those warm, luscious lips, corners twisted into a wicked smile, eyes bright with delight. His fingers clawed through the pebbles, disturbing the tiny fish that tasted his flesh. Her mouth engulfed him. So warm, so goddamn soft. Tongue darted, tickled. Tasted. It was like... well... like a tsunami, a volcano, an unstoppable, over-powering sensation that he had no words for. That there could be no words for, except that it was almost-painful – and glorious.

He came in a rush. Mona released him at the last minute, and his semen drifted away on the wind-swept ripples.

“Holy Yoba,” he whimpered, bracing himself on his elbows, to look Mona in the eyes. She grinned at him, blue eyes mischievous, then ducked her head under the water, wiped her hand across her chin, and moved forward to kiss him. To claim him.

Her lips tasted sharp, of salt and sour-sweet. Of him.

Oh yes, he was, most definitely, hers.


	8. A Corpse Without a Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jasper's a mess.

Now

Jasper splashed water into his face, washed some of the red from his eyes. The face that stared back at him, from the library’s bathroom mirror looked ghostlike, haunted. The dark prince indeed.

There was nothing dark and romantic about him. Pale. Haggard. His hazel-brown eyes so very, very ordinary. He stumbled back, and sat on the closed lid of the toilet.

“What happened to you, Jasper?” he whispered. There came a knock at the door. A tentative inquiry.

“Jasper?” His heart leaped at the voice.

“Mona?” he whispered.

But it wasn’t, of course it wasn’t. Mona was dead.

“Can I come in?” Abigail sounded nervous.

No. But he said nothing, just stared at his vomit-stained shoes. Mona was gone. He’d been given a second chance – for whatever goddamn reason, he couldn’t understand. But she... she still lay cold and dead beneath the ground.

“I’m coming in. So, you’d better have your pants on.”

He laughed at that, a little shakily.

The door opened. He should’ve probably locked it. But he seemed to have forgotten how locks worked.

He’d never needed locks in the castle. Had he even needed a bathroom? 

Abigail entered. She crossed to him in three strides – it was a tiny bathroom – and took his hands in hers, yanking him to his feet.

“I heard what happened,” she said.

And there was something in the tone of her voice, and the feel of her, the warmth of her body pressed against his. The way she held him as though he was neither monster, nor freak – just a poor boy who’d lost himself to the Void – that gave the tears full rein. Like a freaking baby.

“I’ve lost myself,” he sobbed into her shoulder.

“I know.” Her fingers stroked his hair. And there was nothing sexual about it, it was pure comfort. Still, dammit, he felt his body react anyway, that all-too familiar rush of blood to his groin. Part of him wondered what she’d do if he were to kiss her. Her face that looked a little like Mona’s, but was also purely Abigail.

Whether she’d felt him physically, or sensed his awkward confusion of emotions, he didn’t know, but either way, she drew back.

(You-repel-her.)

“Come on Zombie.” She flashed him one of her cheeky smiles. “Wipe those tears. Time to find yourself.” She tore a handful of paper towels from the dispenser and flung them in his direction.

*

“So, did you have any hobbies, like, before?” Abigail asked Jasper. She’d managed to get him outside, in the sunlight at least, and steered him to the park bench. The sunlight seemed to help, but his aura practically seethed with the shadows that infected his soul. 

Did she really think she could help him? How long did she have, before it consumed him? Would it transform him into a monster? Perhaps one of those shadow brutes Uncle Marlon had told her about.

She shuddered at the thought. He’d seemed all right yesterday – laughing with Jasmine, telling her tales of how Mona had taught him how to use a sword – and how clumsy he’d been at it.

Then, today, Penny had called her, sounding frantic. (“It’s your friend Jasper, I think he’s possessed; he’s scaring the kids. Can you help him? Should I call the doctor?”)

He looked at her, sort of half meeting her gaze. “It’s silly,” he whispered. “Just dumb stuff. Kids’ stuff.”

“Yeah?” She made herself sound surly. “Go on, try me.”

He pushed his glasses back up his nose. “Video games,” he whispered. “And... comic books. I kinda, used to, draw a bit. Thought I might write my own, one day. Stupid pipe dreams.”

“Why?” Abigail asked. She rested her head against his shoulder. Physical contact seemed to help diminish the darkness.

(“You’re not alone anymore, Jasper,” she’d told him again, and again. Wasn’t sure he believed her.)

“Because...” He waved his hand about, as though that somehow answered the question. She grabbed the flailing fingers, wrapped her hand around them. “Because it is,” he whispered.

“It’s not,” she replied. “Come on, let’s walk.”

She took him through Cindersap, past Marnie’s ranch, where the crazy goatlets (kids, they’re called kids, she reminded herself) bounced around, and on, the massive pig.

“Petunia,” she said, gesturing at the sow. “Believe it or not, she was sold to a couple as a teacup piglet. They had to surrender her when she outgrew their apartment.”

Perhaps aware she was being talked about, Petunia heaved herself upright, sending the kids skipping away. She waddled over, grunting low in her throat.

Abigail drew a cave carrot out of her pocket and handed it to Jasper. “You can do the honors.”

“Thanks,” he said, not sounding like he actually meant it. “Do you always carry root vegetables with you?”

She shrugged. “You never know when someone might need a little something to cheer them up.”

The look he gave her sent a small shiver of pleasure down her spine. Hah, she’d impressed him, somehow. Who’s shallow now, Jasper Thomas.

Petunia plucked the carrot from his fingers with her large blunt teeth, then pressed herself up against the fence (which wobbled) and requested a scratch. Jasper didn’t seem to quite understand what she was asking, so Abigail obliged.

“Marnie’s invited us to dinner,” she said. “On the 6th. It’s a Saturday.”

“What?” he stared at her aghast. “You can’t go making plans for me. You’re not my...” he faltered, unable to even utter the words.

“Social secretary?” she finished for him, trying to disguise how much his scorn hurt. “Therapist?” She blinked back angry tears. “I’m trying to be your friend, Jasper. And, you need friends right now. You’ve been through a lot of crap! Look, Marnie cared for you. Shane used to be your friend.” She stamped her foot. “You’re not fucking alone!”

“I didn’t ask you to help me,” he returned. “And why should Marnie care for me? I killed her daughter. Shane’s sister. Your sister! I loved her... and she’s dead. You should all hate me... I don’t understand why – why you don’t! Why you can’t! Just... leave me the hell alone.” He marched away, angry long strides.

Abigail ran after him, and grabbed him by the shoulder. “Please Jasper,” she begged. “Look, I know we’ve never really been friends. But, dammit, you need us! Please, let us help.”

“I’m not some damned project!” he shrieked and whirled, pushed hard, sent Abigail stumbling away. Her foot skidded in a patch of mud, and she slipped backwards, fell hard. Pain erupted up her tailbone. 

He stared down at her, his eyes wide, aghast with horror at what he’d done. Then he clapped his hands to his ears, as though trying to drown out the world, and ran.

Abigail staggered to her feet and brushed mud from her clothes. Her project? Is that all he thought he was to her? A hobby. A past-time. An amusement.

“Screw you!” she shouted after him. “Dumb-ass!” And kicked at the mud. Through the haze of pain-induced tears, she saw the shadows coalesce deeper, darker around him. Suffocating him.

Corrupting him.

Killing him.


End file.
